


baby, need a ride?

by nishtabel



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Mild D/s, Modern AU, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25715662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishtabel/pseuds/nishtabel
Summary: i’m coming overgonna ride you like a fucking mechanical bull, dimabe readyi mean itomwOr: Claude has a bad day. Dimitri tries to make it better.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 232





	baby, need a ride?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marlemarle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marlemarle/gifts).



> a commission for [marlon](https://twitter.com/rawmettwurst/), who requested a fic based off of [this comic](https://twitter.com/rawmettwurst/status/1277299779433910278?s=21)! thank you so much for your patronage—i hope you love it! 💕

It’s half-past five when Claude texts him.

_had a bad day_ , the first text reads. Dimitri’s heart sinks. _i’m in a pretty bad mood_.

_I’m sorry to hear that_ , Dimitri begins to type, awkward with uncertainty. How is he supposed to comfort someone over text? He’s never been good at words, can hardly make them work while _speaking_ , and he’s even worse without the aid of vocal inflection. He worries before sending it, finger hovering over the little blue arrow, but Claude cuts him off.

  
_i’m coming over_   
_gonna ride you like a fucking mechanical bull, dima_   
_be ready_   
_i mean it_   
_omw_

Dimitri erases his earlier text, color high on his cheeks and cock already halfway to hard. _Alright_ , he replies, and scrambles to his feet.

* * *

Claude arrives in a frenzy of movement, car squealing into the driveway before the driver’s side door flies open. Dimitri watches mutely from the window as Claude stomps up the driveway, the sidewalk, the steps—his expression is thunderous, brows furrowed as he tugs irritably at his tie. By the time he swings open the door, Claude’s got his crisp, collared shirt untucked from his pants, one hand already fumbling with the buttons.

“Help me,” he demands, and Dimitri hastens to obey.

The buttons are easy; Dimitri is good at this, _practiced_ at this, familiar with the way Claude’s shirt falls from his shoulders and crumples to the ground. Claude’s tie follows, left on the floor in a heap next to his shirt, and there’s a part of Dimitri that knows Claude will be cranky about that later, but—Claude’s climbing him like a tree, hands hot against his face and neck and slipping beneath the loose cotton of his shirt, and wrinkles aren’t important right now.

“Told you I wasn’t lying,” Claude murmurs between bites at Dimitri’s lower lip. His mouth is hot and wet, slick where it cleaves to Dimitri’s own. He’s impatient, licking at the seam of Dimitri’s lips until Dimitri’s mouth falls open for him, Claude’s tongue snaking between his teeth and fucking angrily into the back of his throat. By the time he pulls back, he’s thoroughly mussed Dimitri’s hair, scrunchie fallen and forgotten somewhere on the floor. “Take me away, cowboy.”

Dimitri chuckles between breaths, slinging Claude over his shoulder. He knows this isn’t what Claude meant, knows he’ll pay the price for it later, but Dimitri can’t resist the urge to bite at the apex of Claude’s thigh, mouthing hotly through his trousers. He offers his ass a single squeeze before carrying him up the stairs.

Claude grumbles but doesn’t fight, and by the time they reach Dimitri’s room—clean, now, from the seven cups of water and several week-old dinner plates—Dimitri can feel Claude’s erection rubbing hot and insistent against his shoulder. Before Claude can give him any other orders, Dimitri deposits Claude on the bed, belly-down and face-first into the pillows. His ass is on display, like this: thick and firm and sweetly round, the curve undeniable where it presses against the seat of his pants.

Dimitri gives it a quick swat before kneeling over top of Claude’s body, settling firmly onto his thighs. With two handfuls of Claude’s ass, he murmurs, “Feeling better yet?”

Claude wriggles beneath him, caught between the bed and the hot, thickening bulge of Dimitri’s cock. “Not in the slightest,” he says, voice muffled by the pillows. “I still haven’t gotten what I came here for.”

Dimitri squeezes, thumbing roughly at the seam between Claude’s cheeks. He spanks the right cheek, and then the left, watching Claude jolt and groan beneath him. Claude may be upset, but that certainly doesn’t stop him from rutting back against Dimitri’s hands.

“Rude of you,” says Claude, clearly put-upon after Dimitri’s fifth swipe, “to hurt your partner who is _already_ in such a terrible mood.”

Dimitri hums, spanking Claude’s ass one last time to watch it jiggle beneath his palm. “I’m so sorry,” Dimitri says, voice dripping with false sincerity. “I didn’t mean to. How ever can I make it up to you?”

Claude cranes his neck to face Dimitri, mouth splitting into a sordid grin. “Oh, I don’t know,” he says, coyly. “I can probably think of a few things.”

Dimitri pulls back just enough to let Claude turn over onto his back, before leaning in to cage him against the bed. “Oh?” Dimitri’s hands land on either side of Claude’s face; his hips hover just above Claude’s, just enough to feel the heat, the arousal that coils tight between their bodies. When Claude arches up, Dimitri moves away, laughing when Claude whines. “What are they?”

“Let me ride you, for one,” says Claude, already pouting. “That’s what I came here to _do_.” He arches again, palms settling hot on Dimitri’s chest, and this time, Dimitri doesn’t try to pull away. “Just be a good boy and let me saddle up, alright?”

Dimitri swallows a laugh. “Is that the character I’m playing today?” he asks, mildly confused but very, very willing.

Claude shrugs and tweaks a nipple. “You’re gonna be,” he says, low, “whatever I want you to be, Dima.”

A shudder rolls through Dimitri at that, and he sits back on his knees in order settle himself. His hands find the hem of his shirt, still hanging over-large from his shoulders, and when he begins to strip, Claude whistles.

“Good boy,” Claude says, wiggling beneath Dimitri’s thighs. “Mm, you look so good like this.”

Dimitri blushes, because he’s never learned not to. “Thank you,” he says, all at once demure. Claude’s fingers find his abs, tracing the chiseled outline of the muscle, and he can’t stop the fluttering in his gut. Claude’s fingers have always been deft, smooth and clever, and already he feels the sweat begin to bead on his skin.

“Don’t get too worked up, now,” Claude chastises, his touch disappearing. Dimitri whines at the loss. “You’ve got a job to do. Strip, Dima.”

Dima strips. He steps reluctantly from the bed, fumbling with the button of his jeans as he pulls the worn denim from his legs. He only trips once, excited as he is, and he counts that as a victory when he falls back onto the bed with Claude.

“Good boy,” Claude says again, carding his fingers through Dimitri’s hair. He doesn’t tug, not yet, but Dimitri’s mouth waters at the prospect—the burn, the _ache_ of Claude’s fist gripped tight in his hair. It’ll happen soon enough.

Dimitri hums, pressing a kiss to Claude’s stomach. It flutters beneath his mouth, clearly ticklish, and he leans in to nip at Claude’s navel as he slides his hands up to thumb at the button of Claude’s slacks. “Want me to take these off?” he asks, letting his lips drag against the curve of Claude’s belly. It’s soft and fuzzy and it always smells good, just like his chest, and Dimitri could nuzzle it for _hours_.

“Yes, please,” Claude says, just a little bit breathless. He allows Dimitri to slip his hands beneath his ass, palming roughly before pulling his pants and underwear down in a single tug. “Don’t rip anything, Dima.”

“Of course not,” Dimitri says, innocent and wide-eyed when he meets Claude’s gaze. “I would never.”

Claude narrows his eyes, clearly suspicious, but shakes his head and lets it go. “Mm,” he says, short and dismissive. “Where’s your lube?”

“You know where it is,” Dimitri replies, because he knows it’s the wrong answer.

He’s right: Claude’s eyes darken immediately, brows furrowed as he scowls. “Get it for me,” he orders. Dimitri moves to obey, and Claude watches him, palming at his cock where it lies hot and stiff against his stomach. When Dimitri returns, Claude nods. “You’re going to open me up, Dima, and then you’re going to let me ride you.”

If Dimitri’s mouth wasn’t dry before, it certainly is now. He fumbles with the lube, fingers slick from the excess always left on the outside of the bottle, and by the time he manages to flick open the cap, Claude is leaking into his hand.

“Do you want to turn over?” Dimitri asks.

Claude shakes his head. “I’m comfortable like this, thanks,” he says rudely. Dimitri’s cock throbs.

“Yes, sir,” he says, unthinking. Claude scoffs, but allows Dimitri to lift his legs and spread them open. “You’re—” Dimitri swallows, staring at the winking of Claude’s pink hole. “You’re beautiful, like this.”

“I’ll be more beautiful when I’m _open_ ,” Claude snaps, wiggling his hips. “Come on, Dima, get to work.”

“Yes,” Dimitri breathes. “Yes, of course.”

The first touch of his finger against Claude’s hole has Claude whining, subtly rolling his hips against Dimitri’s palm. _Eager_ , Dimitri thinks, but doesn’t dare say out loud. Instead, he traces Claude’s hole with a single slick finger, reveling in the gasps and grunts that Claude makes, until he finally slides _in_ , thrusting in to the second knuckle. Claude has always been loose, eager to take something larger than himself, and—

“Oh, _yes_ ,” he moans, rocking back onto Dimitri’s finger. “Yes, that’s perfect, Dima, keep going.”

Dimitri keeps going. He adds a second and a third, careful not to tease, free hand rubbing sweetly against the fuzz of Claude’s thigh. When at last Claude begins to whine in earnest, lashes damp with tears, hips stuttering against Dimitri’s hands, Dimitri withdraws. His own cock twitches at the sight of Claude’s hole fluttering and gaping, puffy with lube and the stretch of Dimitri’s thick fingers. He presses his thumb against Claude’s rim just once, just enough to make him arch from the bed—just enough to feel Claude’s body sucking him _in_ , desperate to be full.

“Is that enough, Claude?” he asks, before adding, tentatively, “Sir?”

Claude smiles at him, halfway to relaxed. “Yes,” he says, and sits up. “Now, on your back, cowboy.”

“Thought I was the bull,” Dimitri heckles, but he obeys nonetheless. His weight settles against the pillows, only slightly damp where Claude had been lying on them a moment before. They smell like sex and exertion, and Dimitri breathes in the scent with a subtle gasp.

“Don’t be a brute,” Claude says, and smacks Dimitri on the tit. “You’re my cowboy _and_ my bull, and if you’re not careful, I’ll take you by the horns and break you.” He says it with a sharp smile, pointed teeth catching on his lower lip, and Dimitri whines, high in the back of his throat.

“Promise?” he breathes, bucking his hips beneath Claude.

Claude grinds down against Dimitri’s lap, lube dripping from his swollen rim and onto Dimitri’s aching cock. “Oh, it’s a promise,” he says, and leans forward to bite at Dimitri’s lips. His mouth is hot and slick, lips already swollen from his worrying teeth, and when Dimitri opens his mouth, Claude’s tongue slips in. They kiss hotly, wetly, as Claude rubs himself against Dimitri’s stomach, and it isn’t until Claude’s hand finds Dimitri’s cock that Dimitri breaks the kiss.

“Fuck.” Dimitri’s head falls back, a stubborn string of spit connecting their mouths. “Fuck, Claude—”

“So sweet for me, Dima,” Claude purrs, still dripping precum onto Dimitri’s belly. “You look so good for me like this.”

“I wanna—wanna be.” Dimitri pants, already sex-drunk, as Claude continues to palm his leaking cock. “Wanna be inside you. Please.” He swallows. “Sir.”

Claude hums as though he’s considering it, swiping a thumb against the wet slit. Dimitri convulses beneath him. “Normally I’d have you beg,” he says, “but you make it sound so _nice_.”

Dimitri nods eagerly. “Yes,” he gasps, feeling his balls draw tight against his body. “Yes, yes, I’ll make it—make it feel good, make it good for you, _please_ —”

Claude’s hand disappears from Dimitri’s cock, but when Dimitri opens his mouth to complain, Claude shushes him with a slow, devilish roll of his ass. Dimitri’s voice dies in his throat.

“Just getting the lube, baby,” Claude says. “You’re a pretty big boy, you know.”

Dimitri’s hips stutter, even as he tries to still them. When Claude finally finds the lube, tossed somewhere within the folds of Dimitri’s bunched-up quilt, he makes a breathy victory noise and pops the cap. He spills a healthy amount onto his hand, letting some drip between his fingers with a cruel smile; it lands, cold, on Dimitri’s chest, and Dimitri squirms beneath him.

“I’ve gotta get you with some ice, next time,” Claude muses, reaching back to slick Dimitri up. He moves leisurely, patiently, _teasingly_ , and Dimitri whines because he knows Claude’s doing it on purpose. “You’d look so good, nipples all pink and puffy, pebbled against the cold bite of the ice—I’d let you breathe, just a bit, just enough time between the ice cubes that you’d forget what it feels like. So you couldn’t adjust to it.” Dimitri’s cock jumps in Claude’s hand, and he laughs. “Would you like that, Dima? Hm?”

“Yeah,” Dimitri breathes, and then, when Claude squeezes his cock, “Yeah, yeah, of course, I…”

Claude hums, offering a final stroke down the length of Dimitri’s cock before pulling off. “Good boy,” he says, like a mantra, “good boy. Are you ready for me?”

Dimitri nods, eye half-lidded, hands fisted in the sheets. “Yes. Yes.”

Claude lines up with a gasp of anticipation, grasping Dimitri’s cock and guiding against his swollen hole. “Oh,” he sighs, once Dimitri slips inside. He keeps rocking, keeps pushing himself further down with little, ragged thrusts, and with each one he _gasps_ , just a little, like the thick, solid weight of Dimitri’s cock is pushing the air from his lungs. “So _big_ ,” he says, leaning to brace his hands on Dimitri’s chest. “So big for me, Dima, do you feel—feel how tight I am for you—”

“Yes,” Dimitri says, gasping. Claude’s still working down onto him, still swallowing his cock an inch at a time, and—“ _Yes_ ,” Dimitri cries, once Claude’s ass sits flush against his hips.

Claude gives an experimental roll of his hips, firmly seated— _impaled_ , stuffed full—on Dimitri’s cock. It takes him a moment to adjust, eyes rolling back into his head as his fingers twitch against Dimitri’s pecs. “Give me a moment,” he says, as though Dimitri would dream of disobeying him. “I’ve gotta. _Fuck_.” He groans, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. “God, you’re so fucking big.”

Dimitri feels himself twitch inside of Claude’s tight heat, shivering with lust and arousal and _need_. “Please,” he begs, because he can’t think to do anything else. “Please, sir—”

Claude swats at his chest, flicking cruelly at a nipple. It hardens against his fingernail, aching and sharp. “You’re here for _me_ ,” Claude says, even as he begins to move. “Don’t forget that, Dima.”

Before Dimitri can reply with whatever broken words he can muster, Claude begins to bounce, thighs flexing on either side of Dimitri’s hips. He starts gently, always gently, lifting from Dimitri a mere inch, two inches, three—before he pulls almost all the way off, rim fluttering around the thick head of Dimitri’s cock, and slams back down.

Claude _wails_ , head thrown back as he fucks himself again, and again, and again—his own cock juts thick and hard, _wet_ , between his legs, slapping lewdly against Dimitri’s stomach each time he spears himself on Dimitri’s cock. His hands grip roughly at Dimitri’s chest, sharp nails biting into his skin and drawing bright, red lines down the swell of his pecs, and when Dimitri begins to meet his thrusts, Claude fucks back _harder_.

The wet slap of skin on skin is loud, _filthy_ , and it fills the air around them. Claude balances himself against Dimitri’s chest with one hand clawed tight around Dimitri’s left tit; his free hand teases at Dimitri’s nipple, already peaked and swollen and stinging beneath Claude’s touch. Each time Claude flicks at him, twists roughly at the tight, pebbled bud, Dimitri feels the coil of arousal in his belly grow tighter, brighter, twisting into something untamable and overwhelming.

“S-stop,” Dimitri cries, still following Claude’s thrusts. “I’m—Claude, I’m gonna—”

Claude twists mercilessly at Dimitri’s nipple, other hand digging bright welts into his skin. “ _Sir_ ,” he corrects, “you call me _sir_ , Dimitri.”

Dimitri thrashes, arching up into Claude’s touch, chasing the heat of his hands and the sharp bite of the pain they bring. “Yes, sir—yes, yes, I’m sorry, I just—”

“ _Don’t come_ ,” Claude says with a snarl. Dimitri feels Claude’s hips grow unsteady in their rhythm, his hole clenching tightly around Dimitri’s cock. “Don’t come, Dima, I’m so close, just—just keep fucking me, fucking— _yes_ , just like that—”

Dimitri bites his lip until it bleeds, staving off the orgasm that threatens to overtake him. His balls feel full to bursting, throbbing where they’ve drawn up against his body, and he _wants_ to come, he does, but—but Claude gave him and order, and he must obey. “Let me touch you,” he says, and he means to say _please_ but Claude already looks half-gone, and all Dimitri wants is to get his hands on Claude’s hips, his ass, his cock.

“Yes,” Claude says. “Yes, Dima, you can touch me, touch me—”

Dimitri’s hands find Claude’s cock, smearing precum from the head and slicking the shaft. Claude’s already wet with his own arousal, positively dripping with it, and it doesn’t take long before Dimitri’s got him fisted in his hand, slick and hot and twitching.

“Come for me,” Dimitri says, breathless. He cups Claude’s balls, offering a gentle squeeze as his other hand works at the shaft of his cock. “Come on, Claude, please, I wanna see—wanna feel you come, can you come for me?”

“I—I—”

Claude comes with a cry, loud and long and hoarse, pumping his release into Dimitri’s hand. His hole flutters around the solid weight of Dimitri’s cock, milking him, _teasing_ him, and Dimitri knows to ask before he comes, but all he can manage is a desperate, “ _Please_ , sir—” before he’s spilling into Claude’s guts.

Claude rides him through it, hips jerking in little harsh, broken movements as he slowly, slowly comes back into himself. By the time Dimitri’s eye blinks open, Claude is slumped over onto his chest, face buried in the soft fuzz that blankets his pecs.

“How do you feel?” Dimitri asks, words slurred. When he tries to move, his cock slips fully from Claude’s body, and they both grimace. “Any better?”

“Marginally,” Claude grunts, face still pressed into Dimitri’s chest. “God. What a fucking day.”

“Give me fifteen minutes,” Dimitri says, bringing a hand to rub at Claude’s back. Both of them are dripping with sweat, but Dimitri rubs Claude’s back, anyway. “I can go again.”

With a snort, Claude looks up at him. “You’re assuming _I_ can,” he says, and for the first time, Dimitri notices how tired Claude looks.

“I’m sorry,” he says, before he can stop himself. “I should have—”

Claude smacks him lightly on the shoulder, before pressing a kiss to the center of his collarbone. “Of course I’ll go again,” he says. Dimitri feels his laughter more than he hears it. “You’re just going to have to do all the work, this time.”

Slowly, devilishly, Dimitri smiles. “Oh? You really want to give me that power?”

“Don’t make me regret it, Dima.”

“Shh.” Dimitri pulls Claude fully onto his chest, wrapping him in strong arms and crushing him against his body. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

Claude mumbles his reply into Dimitri’s cleavage, but doesn’t make any move to disentangle himself. For a moment, they breathe; Dimitri holds Claude and feels the tension ease from his body, muscle by muscle, until he’s sure Claude is asleep. He lifts his hand to brush the hair from Claude’s face, bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat, and Claude leans into the touch.

“Dima,” he says, blearily. Dimitri’s heart swells.

“Yes, love?”

“Still gotta call me _sir_.”

**Author's Note:**

> i have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/nishtabel)


End file.
